


Promise of a Future

by OnlyInAutumn



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mild Smut, Pregnancy, War, Winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 10:38:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13246461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyInAutumn/pseuds/OnlyInAutumn
Summary: Snapshots of Dany’s pregnancy through Jon’s eyes and how they find their way back to each other.





	Promise of a Future

It was a cold.

Brutally snowing.

Cold.

Muddy.

Windy.

And cold—had he mentioned that yet?

It was fucking cold.

It was even hard to describe, the chill that filled the body and went as deep as the bone. There was a certain misery that came with winter.

Jon looked over at Daenerys. Surely, she would hate it. This kind of climate was not what she had ever encountered before in an extended amount of time.

Lucky her.

Jon was reminded of his time at the Wall. It hadn’t even been as cold there. Winter was truly upon them, as was what came with the storm.

There inside the courtyard of Winterfell, Jon pulled Daenerys off her horse, holding her tight even when her boots hit the ground, coming to her aid before Jorah got the chance to—because, yes, even Jon was not immune to the prickly sensation of jealously, even if he knew that Daenerys had only eyes for Jon himself. Jorah was no threat, but the thought of his hands on Dany, even to pull her from a horse, bothered him in a juvenile kind of way—and he found that in the past he was pretty far gone in terms of holding back those emotions.

—

The castle was warm inside, all of them huddled around a large table. Jon brought everyone up to date after the reunion with all he had left behind, with the additions of Bran and Arya, who quite frankly, put him in an optimistic mood. He thought they were dead and yet there they stood.

Maybe the impossible was possible.

Maybe they stood a chance.

—

When the castle settled down that night, they were all in a need of a restful night sleep after a long journey. Jon, however, had other plans. He might have felt utterly ridiculous about the giddy feeling that seeped through him about wanting to show Daenerys the castle—his home and where he grew up—but she was interested and was more than willing to oblige. He rattled off different memories in region of the castle, like the small room along a corridor where Jon used to hide when they were playing a game of finding each other, the stairs where he fell and nearly broke his arm when he was eight, and the window that got knocked out by Arya one morning with a ball and she blamed it on Bran.

Dany liked hearing all his childhood memories, saying that she did not have that many good ones of her own.

“But,” she started, taking his hand at his side as they continued to stroll through the hallway, “I have some interesting memories with you to help make up for it.”

—

He was in his room, his old room. It didn’t quite feel like home and he couldn’t put his finger on why that was until the realization hit him—half of his family was dead.

Oh.

That was why.

Nothing would ever quite feel the same again.

—

The knock at the door was soft and he knew who it was before it opened, despite it being the middle of the night. He hadn’t gone to sleep yet, as too much was on his mind, so he welcomed a distraction.

Daenerys still wore that white fur coat that had the golden scale-like train down the back of it, same as she had worn all day. His eyes settled on it, swallowed hard, and thought about ripping it from her to throw her on the bed, and the only thing that stopped him was something else he noticed in the process.

She looked pale, paler than normal, and in the sense that it alarmed him.

“Do you feel alright?”

She glanced upward. “Yes. It’s nothing.”

He was in no way convinced. He had looked at her face countless times, yet something was off that time around. “The Maester could give you a look if you’re ill.”

He tried to inspect her for any other physical signs, but Dany shooed him away as she stepped into his room that he had showed her earlier that evening. “Stop that, I said I am fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“I’ll prove it.”

He might have pressed the matter harder but she approached him quickly and kissed him, taking off his clothes in a hurry, and he was not going to continue to talk. Jon allowed her to strip him all the way naked and push him back onto the bed, where he landed on his back with a huff.

She was on top of him in a second, settling down on his groin. Jon smoothed his hand into the slit of her coat around her breasts and popped the buttons on her coat until it fell off her shoulders.

Jon propelled upwards into a sitting position, Dany still in his lap, him shifting her legs so she would settle against him with more pressure. She pulled his hair loose, as she always did, and shook out his curls. He really enjoyed it when she did that, feeling her nails against his scalp. Half the reason he had it pulled back during the day was so Dany could pull his hair out of the bun at night, running her hands through it lovingly.

Gods, she drove him into insanity sometimes. 

Because he was hard already, and had his cock rubbing against her breeches, which was not exactly pleasing in any way possible, Jon became too impatient. He lifted her up under her arms, tossing her to the side where he quickly covered her body with his own, tearing off the rest of her clothes, throwing them backwards onto the floor.

Jon had been inside of her so many times between Dragonstone and Winterfell that Jon would not even be able to count all the nights (and mornings) he had spent rolling around with her in her bed on the ship or in a tent after they left White Harbor.

When Daenerys giggled, Jon pulled back to look at her, stroking her cheek. “What?”

“Someone is in a hurry,” she commented, a hand traveling over his back, fingertips grazing along his shoulder blades.

Jon blushed and buried his head into her shoulder, a bit embarrassed. “You do this to me. And besides that, I’ve never had a girl here before.”

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m the first girl you’ve brought to your room?”

“We’ve had this conversation, but, yes, the very first.” He started to suck on her neck, and grazed up to her ear, where he whispered, “My Queen.”

He still had some trouble believing it all. Him, Jon _Snow_ , once just a bastard from the North, now Warden of the North and lover to _Daenerys Targaryen_ , the Rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. He thought sometimes it might all be a dream and he would wake up at the Wall, but every time he woke, Dany was right there beside him fast asleep.

“My Queen,” she repeated happily, purring it to him. “ _Your_ Queen, your naked Queen.”

It sent a shot of desire through him, a groan filtering out of him. It was exactly what she wanted, Dany’s legs shifting wider in response, back arching up until Jon caved, feeling her wet and ready for him, and pushed inside.

—

The pair had fallen into a habit when it was only their first few nights together. They would fall into one of two positions afterwards. Either Jon would be on his back and Dany would be curled at his side, or Jon would cuddle her, keeping her backside pressed against his front, slowly drifting off together, an arm tight around her.

That night was different.

Jon had pulled out of her, shifted downward, and laid his head upon her stomach. She messed with his curls and he stared at the fireplace as he ran a finger along the side of her stomach near her ribs.

He wanted to stay like that forever and not even think about any of the Lords in the castle, the troubles his siblings had been through, the White Walkers that were marching towards them, or the horrid woman who currently sat on the Iron Throne who had decided to play them.

“Dany?” he mumbled against her.

“Yes, Jon?” she replied sleepily, hands starting to slow as she began to doze off.

Jon tore himself off of her and took his spot to the left of her body, pulling the furs up and over them. She settled against his chest.

“Is it selfish of me to want you to not leave me here in the north when the war is over?”

“No, because that would make me selfish for wanting to take you south with me when all is said and done,” she mumbled back.

He smiled widely, though she didn’t see it with her eyes closed.

In truth, Jon could not imagine her not in his life. It was something he was going to have to figure out at a later date.

—

His suspicions where correct and Daenerys got sick the following morning. He didn’t gloat about being right, though he contemplated poking some fun to lighten the mood.

“Should I get the Maester now?” he questioned, eyeing her as she sat upright on the edge of the bed, a fur pulled over her lap.

“No,” she said with some force.

He was a bit taken aback. “Very well,” he said, not going to fight it.

When she turned to look at him, Daenerys had a strange look in her eyes, as if she were thinking something over deep in thought. He noticed her hand over her stomach, and he knew she must still be feeling queasy.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I’ve felt this way before.”

Jon almost smiled. “We’ve all felt ill, Daenerys, it’s not a new condition. Nothing to worry over. It’ll pass.”

She smirked, then picked up a pillow and tossed it onto his face for his remark. Jon pulled it off and stretched his arms out for her to come back to him, which she did.

“That’s not what I meant,” she murmured, but fell back asleep before he got the chance to question her further.

—

Bran didn’t see it fit to tell him right away.

As if Jon did not have enough to think about, then there was the reveal of who his parent really were. Jon wished Bran would have done it privately, but that was not the case.

—

Jon pushed her away even though it killed part of him on the inside. It was like getting stabbed in the chest all over again, yet that time he was the one with the knife piercing his own skin and heart.

—

“You’re an idiot,” Arya said bluntly, sneaking up on Jon as he watched young ones practice their archery.

He turned to find her staring him down with a cold expression. “What?”

“You’re an idiot,” she repeated as she spoke freely, with more vigor that time around, unafraid of having her voice heard. She walked forward until she was next to him and threw her hands over the railing, looking down at the courtyard, just as Jon had been doing before her arrival. “You love her. What’s the problem? It’s been weeks.”

The irritation in her voice was not expected, throwing Jon off. “It’s complicated.”

“That’s just an excuse to not tell me how you really feel.”

Maybe she was right.

“Let me ask you this, what if you found out that Gendry was your uncle?” he questioned her.

Arya gave him a stone face. “If you tell me we are related to the Baratheons in any way, I might just call it a night and jump off the side of the castle.”

Jon snorted. “It’s a hypothetical question.”

“I know that,” she muttered, “And here’s the truth. Plenty of Starks have married their cousins in past generations. Targaryens wed brother and sister, and I’m sure somewhere else in the world uncles marry nieces, aunts marry nephews, and so on. In this case, love makes it more reasonable.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Arya sighed, turning to lean her back against the railing, thinking about what to say. “Fine, I’ll answer your question. I don’t think many other boys would approve of me not wearing dresses and doing the kind of things that Sansa loves to,” she told him. “Gendry likes me for who I am and I like him for who he is. It doesn’t matter that he is Robert’s bastard, it means nothing to me. He’s a good person and he was my friend when I needed one. We love who we love and that’s it.”

“It’s that simple for you?”

“Yes, and it should be that way for you too. Who knows how much longer we have left with the Night King advancing on Winterfell every day.” Arya turned back around, spotting Jaime and Tyrion Lannister walking in the courtyard. She placed a firm hand on his arm. “At least she’s not your _twin_.”

They shared a brief chuckle, and Arya told him again to stop being stupid.

—

He wanted her still, which he was not surprised by. Not only did Jon still want Daenerys, but he missed her. He missed talking to her, hearing about her journey, missed watching her when she thought he wasn’t looking, missed hearing her breathing when he woke up before her and decided to wait for her to stir.

He missed everything.

—

They dug trenches a mile out from the castle to further the preparations and filled them with extra pointed dragonglass, the idea being that some of the dead would fall and impale themselves. Jon did not want the dead that close to his home, but it was better to prepare for the worst than not at all. At a quarter of a mile intervals they dug in more, needing to slow down the horde that was headed for them.

And the ice dragon.

It was almost too much to think about, but when he noticed Daenerys making her way towards him, he rubbed off some dirt that he felt accumulating on his face, trying to look somewhat presentable.

When she came to a stop in front of him, the men nearby decided it was best to walk off down the line of the trench for some privacy, and she waited until they were out of earshot.

“I have to tell you something important,” she announced, voice with a slight shake, which was abnormal for her.

Things had been awkward, mostly for him, but even despite that, with her standing there in front of him, he felt the pull towards her.

“It’s a mess out here,” he motioned to her mud covered cloak, even though he knew it didn’t bother her. “You could have sent someone for me to come back.”

“I wanted to interrupt as little as possible. Besides, I needed the time to think,” she admitted, “and the walk here provided enough silence for me to hear my own thoughts.”

“Alright, let’s hear it,” he offered, trying to be supportive, dusting off his hands.

She took a deep breath. “You were right about the witch.”

It did not register at first. Jon’s brows pulled together in confusion, trying to recall a conversation about a witch. There had been so much on his mind that he remained quiet, pondering, eyes all about as he tried to make the recollection.

“About me not being able to have children,’ she then clarified, seeing Jon was not connecting the dots.

His eyes darted back to hers. He played the words over in his head, wondering if he was interpreting what she was saying correctly.

Was everything spinning? Or was it only him?

His brain was processing the information, but his body seemed to detach itself entirely reality. Jon foolishly asked again, “What?”

Daenerys approached him carefully, tentative not to cross a boundary that Jon had put up between them. “I’m pregnant,” she stated. “I’m with child and it’s yours. You are the only possibility.”

So many things went through his mind in that moment but the one at the forefront was that he was going to be a father.

A _father_.

He never thought he would ever be that.

Daenerys must have sensed that his mind was going rapidly and grabbed his hand, where she placed it on her stomach after shuffling her cloak out of the way. His eyes went wide when he felt the bump there.

“How long have you known?” he gasped, nearly breathless.

“Some time,” she admitted, head going to the side. “I didn’t know how to tell you, you were so _distant_. I was afraid you might not want it or that you might be mad.”

Never.

Jon’s stumbled forward, his task out there with the trenches forgotten because his mind had numbed over due to her words.

And words, well, Jon could not even form them.

_I’m with child and it’s yours. You are the only possibility._

He certainly never thought he would hear that in his life, let alone it coming from Daenerys Targaryen. A father, that was what he was going to be. The image of her swelling up more came to mind and in that instance, despite everything, a smile nearly broke his face—the first time he had truly smiled since he had pushed her away.

Mother of Dragons.

Mother of his child.

—

That night, there was something extremely troubling to him when he thought about Daenerys lying in her bed alone, pregnant with his child, while he was in an entirely separate room. His heart ached for her, to be there for her. He knew she could take care of herself, but Jon wanted to take care of her too. He wanted to be there at night when she couldn't sleep, as the baby grew and was kicking to keep her awake

Together.

That was what he had originally preached to her when he first got to Dragonstone. _Together_ they would be allies _, together_ they would defeat the White Walkers, _together_ they would save the realm, and _together_ they would give her the Iron Throne, which she deserved to sit on.

Together.

Only together did they make sense—they were Jon and Daenerys.

When his feet hit the floor, he didn’t bother with any shoes.

—

“I love you,” he confessed at her door as soon as she opened it, surprised to see him standing there in a half-dressed state. “I love you and nothing will be able to change that.”

There was a flicker of hope in her eyes, but still, she said, “You hurt me.”

He rubbed the back of his neck to relieve the tension that had instantly built up, unsure of how to respond. _You hurt me._ Well, didn’t that just stab him in the gut. Actually, her words felt worse than that, and he would know, he had the scars to prove it.

_You hurt me._

He knew he did and it was the worst part about the whole situation. He never wanted to hurt, never really wanted to be apart from her, never wanted to seem immature by putting up wall between them.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life regretting that,” he admitted, briefly closing his eyes to let himself really feel the weight of it all. “I don’t care who I am, who you are, all I care about is that together, well, me make sense. The world feels lonely without you by my side, and maybe that’s a selfish thing to say, but I mean it. I love you and I want to be with you. I want to have this child with you.”

He emotionally braced himself the best he could, ready for her to reject him entirely. He would not blame her if she did.

But something surprising happened after his rambling speech. Dany’s eyes welled up, and that time around, she made no effort to hide the tears, letting herself resume being vulnerable around him. “I, too, want that.”

She let the door fall open more and Jon rushed inward to her, knowing all had been forgiven, forgotten, and he lifted her off her feet in an embrace so strong Jon thought he might never recover from the relief. “I love you, you fool,” she murmured against him, a small laugh escaping.

Jon laughed back and held her tight. When he dropped her to the ground, Jon grabbed ahold of her face and kissed him like it had been the first time all over again, filled with desire and love.

Daenerys pulled him with her as she shut the door, careful not to wake any of those in slumber. He peeled off his clothes and reached for the one layer Dany had grabbed to put on to open the door, untying the dressing robe, until he got her before the bed completely naked. Jon paused them, about to lift her onto it, but found himself staring at the noticeable bare flesh bump that had formed over her stomach. Dany’s hands went to it, caressing the sides of her belly.

“Grows every day,” she murmured.

Suddenly, Jon realized that this time was going to be different, as he needed to be careful. Daenerys noticed his hesitation, grabbing the sides of his arms and pushing him onto the furs.

His hands went to her breasts, which felt heavier in his hands, and were noticeably bigger, even in dim lighting. He put his hand flat onto her belly, fingers molding with the curvature. For a moment, he had forgotten entirely that he was naked and stiff against her leg, completely entranced by the evidence of growth inside her.

_His_ child.

_Their_ child.

It sent a shiver through him, one that was outwardly expressed. “I love you,” he declared again. He tapped her stomach gently. “Both of you.”

—

He grew more anxious—paranoid—as the Night King approached.

Jon thought about suggesting Dany go back to Dragonstone, so if they failed, she could go back to Essos and give birth.

He couldn’t lose her or the baby. He wouldn’t recover from such a thing.

She would never go though, leave them there, all her people, so Jon never mentioned it. Still, he was scared, more scared than he had ever been in his life.

Arya reminded him that fear drives people to go farther, to fight harder for what they want, than they think possible.

—

It should have come to no surprise that he wanted to marry her. Dany thought he was overreacting, but he brought it up most nights, sometimes casually, sometimes forcing the matter.

“And if I were not pregnant, would you still want to marry me,” she asked that night.

“Yes.”

“Then why haven’t you brought it up before?”

He squirmed around in bed. “Because I thought I was a bastard, and what would Daenerys Targaryen want with a bastard?”

She didn’t like it when he referred to himself in that way, the displeasure flashing across her face. “You were the King in the North,” she reminded him. “When the war was over, you may have been a contender left.”

He chuckled. “A contender, eh?”

“I’m sure Tyrion would have mentioned it. Westeros is not exactly crawling with eligible men at this point. In fact, you might have been the only _suitable_ man left.”

Jon thought about it. The Martells were gone, as were the Tyrells. Lannisters were definitely not an option.

“Marry me,” he whispered.

He kissed her clavicle and down her chest.

“Marry me.”

He kissed to her navel.

“Marry me.”

He looked up for a moment, peeking over her swollen stomach, to analyze her face. She had her eyes narrowed at him. “Trying to coerce me, are you?” she teased.

“Is it working?”

“Maybe a little,” she admitted with a mischievous smirk. “Keep going and we’ll find out.”

—

“I’m keeping my name,” she announced to him a few days later.

Jon knew what she was referring to, mind traveling back to the marriage conversation. “I’d never assume that you would change it.”

“I just wanted to be clear.”

Jon reached out and pulled her across his lap. “And our child will bear the Targaryen name as well. You won’t hear a fight from me about it.”

Dany leaned over and lightly kissed him on the lips. “Sometimes I find it hard to believe that a man like you was kept up here in the north all this time.”

He nudged her nose. “The north help make me the man I am. It made me ready to be here with you.”

Daenerys let her hand drift across his jawline, her eyes batting at him. “I’ll marry you.”

—

Sansa pulled it all together on short notice. Nothing big, nothing grand, but enough to suffice that it could actually be called a wedding.

“I had reservations at first,” Sansa slyly mentioned as they walked towards the Great Hall were it had all been arranged. “But, I do want you to know that I’m happy for you, truly.”

“Thank you, Sansa.”

“I made this,” she said, handing over something folded that she had kept behind her back, wrapped in paper and twine.

Jon unraveled it to find that inside was a blanket made of white wool that was small enough for the baby. On one edge there was a patch stitched on with the Stark sigil and another patch on the other that had the Targaryen sigil.

“Do you like it?”

Jon ran his fingers of the softness. “It’s lovely.”

She was more than pleased with the answer. “I have some other ideas as well.” He could already see the wheels spinning about in her head of all the things she could make. “But, today is a wedding, so let’s go enjoy ourselves.”

—

The dress was white, made specifically for Daenerys.

Candles were lit all around, Tyrion walking with Dany as they approached Jon. He never thought he would be there, about to take a wife, about to be a father. When Daenerys stood there beside him, it all became so real.

—

Ghost found himself a regular spot next to Dany until Jon would come back to his room. The direwolf would lounge all spread out lengthwise as if he were a man, protecting Dany until Jon would get there.

“Off, Ghost,” he would tell him, but Dany would insist that he stay.

He took up nearly half of the bed, but Jon was ready to do anything to make sure that Daenerys was happy, even if that meant he woke up to Ghost’s cold nose pressed against his legs or back.

—

A couple days later it began, the thing that had been dreaded by everyone.

It was a sight to see.

The dead fought the living. Dragons fought dragon in the sky. Jon fought the Night King.

The sword he wielded was enough to strike him down, but not after countess failing attempts that shattered Jon’s bones in several places.

He owed his life to Jaime Lannister, who had interfered between Jon and the Night King before a frosted spear could hit Jon. All said and done, Jaime was a man of his word, but it costed him his life in the process. Jon promised to relay the message to Brienne that she was the one who made Jaime the person he really wanted to be. And just like that, another died in his arms.

So much death he had seen.

—

His family was alive, all of them, by some miracle the Gods had spared them, perhaps because they had all been through enough already. Arya, Bran, and Sansa were safe, though Arya suffered a bruised rib from the battle, forcing her to be cared for by Gendry. Ser Davos had held down the castle with Sam, neither keen on fighting.

Daenerys was unharmed, not happy she had to sit out the battle, but her dragons knew what to do even without her on Drogon, who had also miraculously made it through along with Rhaegal.

—

There was so much destruction in the wake of the Night King and the White Walkers. The only thing that kept Jon going was his family, and the new addition that was yet to arrive—the promise of a future.

—

Arya disappeared one day. Jon would have been worried if it were anyone but Arya. She was the wild one, the one who went by her own rules. Jon knew she would turn up again when she was good and ready to.

However, he did not expect to hear that when she did return that Cersei Lannister was dead and that the Seven Kingdoms belonged to Daenerys.

More names crossed off her list.

—

When she went into labor, Jon was not afraid to admit that he was terrified. Childbirth was a risky business, and for many mothers it led to a grave. He stayed with her the whole time, too nervous to leave her side.

After many hours, one final push, and Gilly was able to pull the baby fully into the world.

The baby added another girl into his life and Jon was overjoyed. She had small wisps of light silver hair, taking after her mother.

Jon’s eyes welled up when the tiny girl was given over the Daenerys, all wrapped up in a blanket. “Look at her, Jon.”

He could barely think, a mixture of shock and joy flooding him. Jon gently sat down at the edge of the bed to gaze. Daenerys pulled away the cloth so they could look at her face better, her eyes shut tight.

“She’s gorgeous,” breathed Jon.

—

They were side by side on the bed, watching their daughter sleep, tucked up tight, her first night there with them.

“What do you think of the name Maeya? She needs a unique name, the First of Her Name.”

“Maeya Targaryen,” he repeated, holding their daughter in his arms, slowly rocking her, completely entranced by the small being that was part him and part Daenerys. “It’s perfect.”

She would one day rule, just as her mother would, and their world together would be more than Jon would have ever expected, but he would be damn grateful for every moment.

Spring would one day come again.


End file.
